


Sunglasses

by JIMBO (TheMLGOtaku)



Category: Mystery Science Theater 3000
Genre: Gay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:52:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6057316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMLGOtaku/pseuds/JIMBO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Screenwriter AU by @eviluncle on tumbles - Screenwriter Crow and his blossoming (but rocky) love between him and one of the actors on the set, Tom Servo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunglasses

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaaa i figurued i'd slap this here I GUESS U____U anyways they is ghey

Infuriating as Tom Servo may be, he’s a damn good actor – and later on, to your surprise, a damn good kisser.

That being said, you purposely infuriate him, the rims of expensive sunglasses clammy against your fingers.

“Cut! That’s a wrap for today people!” Clayton Forrester, one of the directors to your most prized child, claps his hands as crew members dissipate, disassemble, and simply scatter in the studio of which your beautiful baby is being filmed. On the set were the works: all of the machinery detailed down to the last knob, the outfits absolutely _on point_ and the cast an astounding array of creative forces and pretty faces. Suffice to say, your film was culminating into this year’s biggest blockbuster hit. 

There was one sore though. One never ending blister on your side. A canker sore on the most sensitive part of your ever so delicate psyche. An absolute pain in your ass.

“Tell me now Clayton, did the shot capture me as five foot seven or NOT?!”

“Don’t talk to me like that Tom or I could easily replace you with SOMEONE ELSE!”

“HALFWAY THROUGH SHOOTING? I DON’T BELIEVE IT! I’LL BE IN MY DRESSING ROOM WHEN YOU’RE READY TO TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO HEAR!”

Tom Servo. Tom Servo. _Tom Servo._

“WHERE ARE MY GUCCI SUNGLASSES? DO YOU KNOW HOW _EXPENSIVE_ THEY ARE? HOW SENSITIVE MY EYES ARE, HOW MUCH I _REQUIRE_ THOSE SUNGLASSES?”

Tom Servo plays one of your most integral roles – Bruce Fern, cookie cutter space engineer with a secret skill in decoding – and for the months you’ve been camping out here in blistering California heat, you’ve never been as close as to have a stroke than you have being near all the hot airs he emits. With his flashy designer clothes (you’ve searched each item they’re _moderately_ pricey at best the little tool) and his excessively high standards and to your surprise, his appalling short height (with subsequent short temper) and his self absorbed attitude and the LIST COULD GO ON! Tom Servo, is what you call in the industry, a _case to be had._

… That being said, you’d be damned to believe he wasn’t a work of art to admire. But you cut monologue-ing short so you can scamper off, fiendish as you are, to his trailer room before he gets there.

His sunglasses probably weren’t the best thing to scuttle away with, but you take great pride in having grabby hands. They are surprisingly good sunglasses.

* * *

With an absolute flourish of the door, you, _Tom Servo_ (it’s French), enter your beautiful dressing room, complete with assorted fruits and a weekly gift basket of your most favorite soaps.

And you, _Tom Servo_ , fight an urge to _scream_.

It’s that cursed Crow T. Robot. The screenwriter of this _mediocre_ train wreck. _He_ was probably responsible for taking your sunglasses, you just _know_ it. Either to pawn off to fund his _disastrous_ wardrobe (Kate Spade merino wool blend in mustard yellow?! In _this_ weather?!), or to your even bigger suspect, to add to his obsessive shrine of the many possessions you own. It’s not far off to believe with the things you’ve lost since shooting (your favorite cherry lipbalm, your Mason Pearson brand hairbrush for natural hair, your MAC limited edition compact) that the little thief wasn’t constructing some kind of altar to your beautiful self. You would feel flattered if it wasn’t coming from him, frankly. Your frustrations only escalate while you hunch over your vanity a sunken man. Those sunglasses were probably the most expensive gift you’ve bought for yourself, and they’re _gone_.

“Looking for something, compadre?” You recognize that nasally, high register voice as none other than the thief himself and turn around to catch gazes with his sneer-y lips and mischievous eyes and _pretentious wire rim glasses_ (and that despicable mustard yellow scarf) and stand up while he leans against the door frame smug as ever.

“From the likes of ratty ol’ you I should have known you would want to take it.”

“ _Au contraire mon frere,_ ” he tuts, tsk’ing a finger while you remember your most defining flaw – your inability to _not_ monologue your thoughts out loud. “my only motive in taking these lovely sunglasses of yours is of nothing but a mere jest, dear Thomas. If I was _going to pawn it off_ , and if I _had a shrine_ , I wouldn’t be coming here in the first place to _gloat_!”

Confound him, he’s right.

“Well, what happened then to my lipbalm, my compact! My _hairbrush_!”

“The lipbalm, I actually use, admittedly… But the compact and hairbrush I m-may or may not have misplaced…”

“You–!!” _You’re gonna kick his ass._

“… T-t-they’re quite expensive aren’t they, these sunglasses? Did a little online searching if you will and found out they’re a whopping 420 dollars! Gucci brand and everything… M-my my Tom, your taste is exquisite.”

“Hand them over they’re not only Gucci but _prescription._ ” _You’re gonna kick his ass after he gives back your sunglasses._

“ _Make me!_ ” What you did was unprecedented, mad. And yet you did it, giddily.

You close the distance and grab at his stupid black cotton/polyester blend turtleneck (feels like a JC Penney’s item) to bring him to your level, and you kiss him on his (faintly cherry flavored) lips. He chokes out a noise of surprise before he reciprocates enthusiastically and you would grin into the kiss before you hear the plastic clattering of your objective and break apart. You have every bit of smugness in you to bark out a laugh right in his face but when you catch Crow’s wavering pupils and flushed face you can’t suppress the same burning in your cheeks, eyes widening slightly because _that was something._

* * *

_That was something_ , is all your mind has running laps over and over in your head and you find yourself in a bit of a bind so to speak, a bind concerning unwieldy feelings and the pathetic pittering in your heart. You never considered yourself quite the maiden either and yet here you are reassessing your virtues… You’re petrified.

Quickly, Tom breaks the heated gazes first and snatches up his sunglasses with a triumphant smile easily gracing his face. You contemplate if that was him acting but he’s already gesturing you out the door, and you would also believe his eyes had something bright and delightful dancing in them since that kiss, but the door slams behind you and you’re left outside Tom’s dressing room looking like a tool.

A bright red, flustered tool who isn’t as sly as he thought he was.


End file.
